Living Year to Year, Book Three
by Doreen Tracy
Summary: The continuation of the story of Sam, Al and company after Sam has leaped home.


_AN: With __ap__o__l__og__i__e__s __t__o __D__i__c__k__e__n__s __a__n__d __F__r__a__nk __Ca__p__r__a__, __b__o__t__h __o__f __w__h__i__c__h __I__'__l__l __a__c__k__n__o__w__l__e__dge __I __s__t__o__le __l__i__b__e__r__a__l__l__y __f__r__o__m. Some things in this story will be explained later, some won't. I'm glad that there are folks out there enjoying my stories. I read all reviews, even if I don't respond and the kind words I've received are appreciated more than you can imagine__._

As the holidays drew close that first year after Tom's death, I found myself more and more in dark moods that even Al couldn't seem to break me out of. We had our hands full of the Farm, preparing for the techs to arrive and for EarthSafe to take its place among the environmental organizations of the world. Usually, work was the one thing that could pull me out of a black mood, but even burying myself in the set-up of the computer facility didn't jar me from it.

As I picked at the meal that Millie had made for Al and me, I could feel his eyes boring into me from across the table. Verbena was casting curious looks my way, and Paul had his full attention centered on his mutton stew.

"Sam..." Al was glaring at my half-finished plate. Since Tom's death my rapid weight loss had been a major bone of contention between us. He and my physician, Greg, seemed terribly worried that I'd starve to death. "Eat," he snapped. "It's pretty good."

"I don't like mutton," I said quietly, setting my fork down in a show of defiance. "And I don't like being _t__o__ld _I have to eat."

His lips became one thin hard line, silver ice glittering in his eyes. I'd pissed him off, not the first time I'd done that in less than twenty-four hours. Earlier, I'd had a quiet fight with Greg. It had built to such proportions that my doctor had retreated to the relative peace of his condo in town. The argument was an old one-mostly that I should take my meds for depression and stop fighting him about it.

Al had gotten mixed up in the discussion, siding with Greg and making me feel as if I were seven years old, something he had a regular habit of doing. Bena had chosen, wisely, to stay out of our fights unless it came to blows. She'd promised to call Adrian on those occasions, or get an elephant gun. I almost approved of the latter. Paul was simply Paul, quite happy with life in general and doing everything in his power to make Bena fall madly in love with him. So far he was succeeding. I somehow had a feeling that the house we were building across the compound for Bena would soon become a home for two.

"Sam, you aren't even listening to me!"

"May I be excused?" I lisped, childishly, making Al's cheeks flame.

"I want to talk to you."

"About what'?" I leaned back in the chair, looking directly in his eyes.

"You need to eat more," he began. "Not only that, but I want to see more listening around here. We care about..."

Emotion clogged my throat immediately, making me push up from the table and stride out of the house. I didn't want to hear how much I was loved anymore. Too much had happened this year. As I practically ran away from the house, I closed my eyes against the Christmas lights that Al and some of the new techs had strung up around the porch, tearing off in the direction of the parking lot.

Thankfully, Al had the good sense to not follow me this time.

Yesterday, when I'd ran like this, he'd followed me full of concern and love. I'd literally screamed at him until he went back to the house, his eyes filled with tearing hurt. I was thankful I didn't have to see that again.

"Dr. B?"

Gasping in surprise, I almost fell back from my Jeep that I'd been attempting to get into. Turning, I glared at my ever present shadow. "What, Adrian?"

"If you'd like, I'll drive you wherever you need to go."

"Admiral's orders?"

"I'm afraid so, Dr. B." He didn't look happy at giving me the news. "Just down the pike."

Surprisingly, I didn't feel like defying this order. I didn't really want to drive myself around-but I did want away.

Grudgingly, I let Adrian have the keys I'd carried around in the pocket of my jeans since the day before. As I got in the passenger side, I didn't say a word, knowing, as well as Adrian did, where I wanted to go.

He 'd driven me there many times in the last three months. Some weeks it was an every day trip-Al and Greg-and even Bena-were not aware of the amount of time I spent in that place.

As we pulled up, I told Adrian to stay put, as usual, and took the hill blindly, not really needing to see where I was I reached my destination, I fell face down upon the ground, burying my face in the snow, defying the cold that soaked through my sweater and jeans. It was barely enough to cover the graves, to cover my guilt.

My brother, Tom. Even after the long months since his suicide, I couldn't get over the loss. Or even accept it, no matter how much Al and Greg might think I was. I doubted if either of them knew that I carried the memory of his broken body in my mind 's eye each and every day. Only Bena knew how badly I'd taken his death, and how much blame I laid upon myself.

I'd saved his life in 'Nam, only to see him die a little over a year after my return from Leaping. His death had been directly caused by delayed stress syndrome. If I'd left well enough alone... Over and over I told myself that if I hadn't saved Tom, Maggie and John, his two children, would have never been born.

Still, his death weighed on me, causing deep hurt and crippling depression.

At times like this, especially at times like this, I wished for death or that I'd never been born. I wondered, as I lay there in the snow, tears trickling down my cheeks, what would have happened if I'd had died when I returned home from Leaping. Maybe Tom wouldn't have killed himself if he hadn't discovered my meddling ways.

"Sam?"

Keeping my eyes tightly shut, I turned away from the concerned sounding voice.

"Dr. Beckett!"

Pushing myself up from the ground, I fell back on my butt, staring up at a woman wearing a winter parka made from some sort of long, white fur. Frowning, I felt I recognized her...but for some odd reason couldn't put a name to the face. "Do I know you?"

"Maybe." Her face, framed by the hood and fringes of golden hair, was heart shaped and very beautiful, like a model's. Huge blue eyes met mine as she offered a hand up. "You do look as if you could certainly use my sort of help."

Letting her boost me to my feet, I dusted the melting wetness off my jeans, frowning. "I appreciate your concern," I said, on the edge of anger and irritation. "But it's really none of your business. I need time alone, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," she replied calmly, easing her hip against my father's tombstone, not with disrespect but with a definite attitude. "And it is my business." She smiled as I glanced down the hill for Adrian, who I was sure would come running up the slope any minute to question this strange woman who had approached me. "He isn't there anymore."

"What?" Craning my neck, I realized that my Jeep was gone-along with Adrian. Fear filled me, wondering inwardly if any one of my enemies was about and around. Glancing around wildly, I noticed the very air around us had changed, growing more chill-and, strangely-I wasn't all that cold. Flashing a look back to the strange woman, I gaped, then felt anger fill me. "Who are you?" I repeated, grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer to me. "What did you do to Adrian?"

"Just what you asked for, Sam."

My mind went completely blank for a moment, then bounced into gear almost immediately. "I _asked _for him to be taken away?"

"You asked for a change-and I was empowered to give it to you."

"A change?"

Smiling warmly, she appeared less a threat-more like a friend. I still couldn't quite give up the feeling that I knew her well.

"You asked that your life be changed-that you die upon retrieval. It has become so. You died February 14th, 2000."

"The day I...came home." Slowly, I released her hand, wondering if I was the one going mad, or she was. "You have got to be kidding. I'm alive," I said quietly, evenly, as if trying to convince myself. "I've seen that movie, too," I added, wondering at her grin. _"__It'__s __A W__o__nderf__ul __Lif__e__._What's really going on?"

"Sam, being an analytical person, you require proof." Her touch was warm on my arm, turning me gently to face the stones around us. Her facial expression had gone from soft to sad in a moment. "This is the best proof I have. I'm sorry."

Falling to my knees, I reached and touched the stone that bore my name, tracing with my fingers the snow filled etching. SAMUEL BECKE'IT, it read. BORN-DIED, and NOBEL PRIZE WINNING PHYSICIST under it all. My mother and father were next to me-but there was no sign of Tom. I could feel my heart lift at that sight, knowing that, indeed, my death had saved my brother and his family.

"There was more than just your brother, Sam, who needed you."

"Really?" I replied bitterly. "I only cause grief for Al and my friends. He'd have been better off without me."

"You really believe that?" She was crouched down to my level. "Did you really read the stone? All of it?"

"No." I reached out to brush the clinging snow from the very bottom, but her hand halted my motion. "What?" I questioned, glaring at her.

"Not now." Taking my hand, she guided me to my feet. "I'm certain you read your Dickens."

"When I was little, yes." I half-smiled, remembering how thrilled my mother and father had been to hear me read the old books aloud at Christmas time . "What of it? Are you the ghost of Christmas Present or something?"

"Actually, Christmas Past, Sam."

"You have to be kidding." I turned away from her, just as a rush of snow and sparkling segments flew past me .Blinded by the sudden swirl of wind, I held an arm defensively over my eyes, then, feeling the air calm around me, I lowered it.

Turning slowly, I found myself in the living room of our home, the farm, a fire burning in the old fireplace. I almost called out Al 's name when I realized that the photos on the mantel were not the ones we kept there. Slowly, I went up to the shelf, examining the framed pictures, almost stunned at what I saw there.

I'd not seen some of these since I'd left home in '70. My parents wedding picture had last been viewed in the family album that Katie kept in her home in Hawaii. The round, tinted photo of Tom and I as kids was something I'd thought had been lost years ago.

With a touch of her hand, I found myself turning to glare down at my 'ghost'. "You do recognize this place, Sam?"

"It's home," I said reluctantly. "What year?"

"Christmas, 1957."

"John, they want our decision before the first of the year."

Heart in my throat, I watched my parents enter the room, the only light from the Christmas tree. There was my Dad, looking so much like me, his hair slicked back with Brylcreem, dressed in his pajamas and robe, old leather slippers covering his feet as he shuffled over to the closet and began to pull out packages. No matter my parents financial straits, they always managed to give us plenty of presents every single year.

"Mother, it's Christmas Eve." His tone was resigned as he pulled out the Flexible Flyer that I'd coveted that year. It was a present that I treasured even now, still hanging in the shack that Tom had used for wood carving. Crouching down next to it, his hand lovingly stroked the wood, smiling softly to himself. I imagined him recalling a memory of a sled he'd had at one time just like this one, and the story he'd tell me this very Christmas of the time him and Uncle Henry had taken the long slide down Hell Hill and ended up in Mr. Minonts chicken coop.

"John, now is the only chance we'll have. I can't discuss this in front of the boy. The people at that school said it has to be our decision." Mom seemed terribly anxious about something. I knew that Katie had just been born less than a month before, but it had to be more than that. A school?

"You look confused, Sam." My 'angel' rested her hand on my arm, peering up into my face. "What is it?"

"I don't remember this discussion-and I have total recall of everything that was going on this year. Katie was just born, and all the presents I got, Torn and I getting in trouble for running off before dinner to go sledding..."

Setting a wrapped package next to the huge tree, I remembered it as the baseball bat that Torn had coveted, complete with Mickey Mantle 's autograph. Mom settled down on the rug, taking presents from Dad and settling them in a neat arrangement under the branches. "The teachers from that government school said that Sam should start there in the spring. He 'd be at high school level in less than a year."

"He's only four years old, Mother!" Dad kept his voice even, in deference to us kids sleeping in the rooms upstairs. "High school level1 I've never heard of such a thing."

"That one boy they told us about-Lee Stewart. He's six and already studying to be a doctor. They said they figure with the right teaching, Sam can be well on his way to college in three years. Or less. Sam is much brighter than the Stewart child."

"He was in the barn yesterday, reading me the grain prices like he knew what it all meant." Slumping in a chair, I suddenly saw my father age, pulling a cigarette from his robe pocket and lighting up. "I think he did, Thelma. I think he did. Sam's adding numbers, reading books and papers...but this school..."

"They say it's the best thing going for him." A peculiar look crossed my mother's face, as if she was holding in tears. In all the time I'd lived with my parents, I'd never seen my Mom cry but once-the day we'd been told that Torn had died. I still recalled that timeline. I'd not been home when Dad had passed away, Katie telling me Mom had shed her tears when she'd said goodbye to him, and no more after. "The man said it would be to his...his best advantage. All free-no cost to us."

"That's not the point, Thelma." My father almost sounded as if his voice was full of tears, his eyes bright in the lights from the tree. "I asked that man what kind of childhood our boy would have and he..." Snorting, Dad flicked the ashes from his cigarette neatly in the ashtray. "He said Sam was extraordinary and needn't worry about 'childish things'. Like toys and such."

"It's rare you see the boy playing with his wagon, or the other toys his Grandmother gives him." I had to smile at that. Grandma Nattie had made me her special pet, constantly spoiling me in ways I remembered warmly to this day. "He's more interested in cleaning the barn, or helping you and Torn with chores. If he's not outside playing with his brother, he's in his room or at the dining table reading every book I can get for him. I know he's gone through most of what's at the city library. I wonder if this school can give him every single book he needs, John. Maybe there is something to this place."

I could see the decision was weighing most upon my Dad. Eyebrows knitted, he listened to every word my mother said, never one to interrupt when anyone, child or adult, was talking to him. The room sang in silence for a few minutes, Mom carefully rehanging the ornament that constantly kept falling to the carpet, her color pale, waiting, I knew, for what my father would say.

"They…" Mom bent her head, closing her eyes. "They said the public school would be detrimental to Sam, John. That it might hurt him to go to a place with children beneath his level."

Now I knew why my parents had chosen to have this discussion out of my earshot. If I had heard these things as a highly impressionable child of four, I was sure it might have possibly changed the way I felt about the other kids that would eventually become my best friends.

"I've decided, Mother." Dad sighed, giving my mother such a look of caring and love that I couldn't bear it. In a moment, she was in his arms, holding on, hugging him for all he was worth. It was a warming feeling, indeed, to know the depth of my parent's love for each other. "Our boy stays home with us, goes to school when the time is right. I talked to Mrs. Claridge at Elk Ridge School. She said Sam'll be treated like every other child there, and maybe she can call Annie or one of the boys from the university to tutor when he needs to know more. Sam practically worships his brother, Thelma. I'd never do something to separate them. Tom is a good boy, someone that Sam can learn things from, the practical things-not the unnatural way this school would teach him about life, stick him in some government office where we'd never see him."

"We can't think about ourselves," my mother said, moving around so she was sitting in my father's lap. "They said we might take the selfish way..."

"This is for the boy," Dad said, in a tone that I remembered as non-arguable. He 'd made his decision. "If he has a mind like that feller said, then he's going to use to do good-and he'd better know the folks he's working for before he grows up. In some school like they told us about, the boy will only know those in there-and nothing else." He chuckled softly. "I doubt if being brought up with us and our friends in Elk Ridge will 'damage' Sam."

"I don't remember this," I repeated, looking down at the girl. "It was never discussed with me."

"You were only five, Sam." Her voice was gentle and kind. "A little boy who had a lot of growing up to do, no matter what the men from the government told your parents. Your parents were afraid, Sam. Afraid that they'd take you forcibly. You were so bright, tested so well, that they knew you were meant for extraordinary things."

"Like ruining my brother's life."

"It seems you need to see what else is ahead for you." Moving her hand down to mine, I felt the room tear away from us like wet tissue paper. As quickly as I could open and close my eyes, I was somewhere else.

"We all make mistakes, _Sa__m__." _Her eyes were sad. "Your brother wasn't stable. His mind had been hurt in Viet Nam. You challenged the fates to save his life-and that wasn't what you were meant to do there. Your job was to make sure that photo was taken-you were partially successful."

"How could I not save him?"

"I know, Sam. No one put into the same position would have done it differently. Even Al." The motion around us stopped. We were in the middle of what seemed to be a military base, Navy. The men in white uniforms were a sure indication. "I am showing you these things so you know there were others to consider when you asked to die. Your parents change of mind-what would have become of you if they had chosen another path?"

"I don't know." Eyes downcast, I wondered where I was and what we would see here. "I suppose I'd have been in a think tank somewhere, working for the government in some capacity. I never thought about it. It was the only decision my parents ever made for me without discussing it within my hearing."

"You were loved, Sam. A bright, pleasant child. If you had been sent to that school you wouldn't have made Quantum Leap and saved all those lives. You wouldn't have had the foggiest notion on how to deal with people, as your mother said."

"Where are we now?"

"Christmas, 2000."

With a sinking feeling, I realized that we were in the year that I'd been killed. A Navy base meant one thing...

"Admiral Calavicci is cancelling his appointments for the day." The ensign leaned over the attractive yeoman's desk. "Sent me to convey his message. It 's Christmas Eve, after all-"

My eyes went from the desk to the office door nearest it. Admiral Albert Calavicci. "Admiral," I whispered. "Some things never change."

Taking my hand, she led me through Al 's door and into a comfortably large office with a single man sitting behind the desk. He was speaking into an intercom, sending his people home for the holidays. When he'd finished, he fell back in the chair, closing his eyes.

For the first time I could see the lines of pain drawn on his face. He looked older than I'd ever seen him, drawn and pale. There was a slouch to his precision posture that I'd only seen once-when I'd told him that we were over, that my brother's death had killed what we cup he sipped absently from contained only coffee, not a drop of liquor to be seen in the office.

"At least he's not drunk," I said quietly. "I was thinking he'd be an alcoholic, or..."

"You place far too much credit on yourself, Sam. Albert is perfectly capable of knowing when enough is enough. He hasn't drank for nearly ten years, and, after your death, he took this assignment far from the desert."

Swallowing hard, I leaned over the desk. I loved this man, more than anyone in the world, despite our fights as of late, and the anger between us sometime. "What's wrong with him?" I asked, flashing the girl a look, begging for truth. "Why does he look so…"

"Old?" Her blue eyes turned dark. "He held you in his arms as you died, Sam. His heart was broken. They had to forcibly retrieve you, or see the Project torn down and you lost in time forever.

Not given a choice, he chose to order Gooshie and the techs to retrieve. You died on reentry, your last words to Al of love and gratefulness. It saved him from suicide-but not the guilt. He rarely leaves this office-he has no home .What is worse is that he has no soul. In a year, he will die, of heart failure."

"No." Closing my eyes, I reached out and found that I couldn 't touch Al. Not even able to brush my fingers against his hand. "He's still alive at home-"

"You keep forgetting that you asked for a change."

I was about to vent a retort when the door opened. "Admiral?" It was the girl we'd seen-Al's yeoman. "Mrs. Bonnic on line two. She says she won't take no for a answer this time ."

"Katie?" I glanced at my companion who only nodded. "She 's taking care of Al for me?"

"Sam-she wants to know the truth. The government forced Al to keep it from her and your family. For all means and purposes, you died in a traffic accident. Katie suspects otherwise and keeps persisting in her search for the facts."

Tiredly, Al said hello, then listened patiently. "I can't help it if you hate me, Mrs. Bonnic," he finally said, when, I figured, my highly excitable sister had finished venting. "Your brother was in the middle of some…"

His eyes closed tight in pain. "I'm sorry about your mother," he whispered. "I'm sorry about all of it." I could hear the depth of his pain in his voice, the way his eyes shut as pressed his free fist against his forehead. "And Tom. I've tried twice to speak to him, and..." His mouth went tight under the next tirade. My Katie was furious, seemingly blaming Al for all of the grief that had hit our family, including the death of my mother. "I can't explain that," Al said finally. "I told them...I told them to engrave the stone. I admit it."

Slowly, he set the phone on the cradle and slumped back in the chair. It was obvious he was crying, but never shared his grief with anyone.

"I take it all back." Turning to the girl, I crossed my arms over my chest. "I want to go home."

"You 're not Jimmy Stewart, Sam. You won't go home until we are very sure that you want to be there..."

"I miss Al, he needs me. My sister needs me. I want to go home."

"Just one more place, Sam."

Slowly, the world around us spun, then coalenced into were in what appeared to be the hallway of a dirty hotel or apartment building. The sounds of children crying, traffic, and loud televisions penneated the air. "I don't know this place," I said. "Where are we?"

"Christmas, 2003."

As she said the words, there was a flash, then we were standing in a nearly bare apartment, one lone figure sitting on the bed with his back to us, head bent in concentration. Circling slowly, I found myself dreading with each step I took finding out who this could be.

"Greg?" I could hear my voice break as I said his name. His head came up a moment, as if he heard me, then back to what he was doing. Namely, he was shooting up. Heroin, freebase cocaine... I wasn't sure. My angel had left when we entered the room. For this, I knew, I needed no words. If I had died at the Project, Greg would've taken it hard-I just didn't realize how much he thought of me, or what kind of toll my death would take on him.

Kneeling down by my old friend, I concentrated, trying to meet his gaze. I was positive he couldn't hear me, but I sent him all the love and care I had in me. His cheeks were hollow, and it looked as if he hadn't eaten for a while. Just as he plunged the needle into his arm, I saw his face take on a triumphant look, as if he was glad that he'd finally had the guts to go through with it. In a moment, he was on his back on the bed, his eyes closing. Tears poured from my eyes as I realized that in a few minutes he would be dead, and no one would care.

"He went downhill after Al's death, Sam." I couldn't look up at the angel as she spoke the words, watching me from the door. "After you died, Greg tried his best to take care of Al, and they developed a good friendship. When Al passed away, Greg felt as if no one cared about him. His friends, even Verbena Beeks, had either moved on, as she had, or gone away. Edward St. John doesn't even know where he is now."

"Will someone find him?" I asked, my voice choked and hard to force through my tears. "Anyone?"

"The building manager in two days. His rent is due." Her hand came down on my shoulder. "It's time to go back, Sam."

"I want to go home," I said, closing my eyes.

Just as I said the words, I found myself sitting on the snow covered grass. My angel was at my side, looking worried and sorry that she had to do what she did. I think I had learned my lesson. Losing my brother had been horrible, maybe the worst thing that had ever happened in my life, but not worth wishing my own life away.

I was sitting in front of my tombstone, my own name staring me in the face. Reaching out, I brushed at the snow that covered the words at the very bottom, feeling my eyes tear up the moment I read what I knew that Al had the stonemason carve on the marble.

"Good night, Dear Heart, goodnight." Looking up, I met the blue eyes of my angel. "You're Hilla," I said quietly.

"Thank you, Sam." Smiling, she bent to kiss my forehead, then vanished. I fell against the stone, pressing my cheek against the ice, sobbing for Al, for Greg, begging for my life back.

"Dr. B?"

Nearly shocked out of my skin, I jolted, finding myself lifted from the ground in strong arms and set on my feet. Turning, I grabbed all of my security guard in my arms and hugged him far tighter than he was used strangling, he returned the embrace, half-laughing in surprise.

"You 've been up here far too long, Dr. B. I didn 't want to bother you, but..."

Burying my face in his coat, I laughed again. "Can I go home now?" I asked, caught between grief and surprise at being back so quickly.

We drove home as fast as we could, me urging Adrian to new limits on my speedometer. Before he could barely park the car, I was out, tearing across the compound and up the steps to our house.

Inside, Al was sitting in the living room, looking sorrowful and worried. Brian looked up the moment I entered, expecting more grief and smiling at me when he saw my expression of total exultation. Before my Admiral could lift his head, I was on him, kissing him right in front of Brian, Millie and the two lovebirds, Paul and Bena, by the fireplace.

"What's gotten into you, Sam?" Al 's eyes were surprised but pleased. "Everything forgiven?"

"I'm sorry, and I mean it this time." I kissed him again, feeling him blush as everyone hooted, applauding at the style and duration. Just as I released him, Greg came in from the kitchen, loaded down with cookies and a glass of milk. I think he could tell immediately that I was feeling better, his face lighting up and returning the hug I gave him without even spilling his drink.

"What's this?" he asked, obviously enjoying it but very confused.

Breaking the embrace I pressed my hands against his cheeks, smiling as Al came from behind, wrapping me in as warm a hug as I could ever hope for. "I'm just glad to be home. I'm sorry I was acting like such an ass, and I think the worst is over."

I was home. It was Christmas and I was home.


End file.
